


Alone Together: The Forgotten Story of the Captain of Gondor and the Shieldmaiden of Rohan

by The_Hobbit_Ninja



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: During Canon, Faramir and Eowyn, Fix-It, Love Story, Post-Canon Fix-It, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Hobbit_Ninja/pseuds/The_Hobbit_Ninja
Summary: Faramir and Eowyn's relationship develops through while they are "prisoners" in the houses of healing. Tolkien's beautiful romance with my own twists.
Relationships: Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok folks. You will be faced with a spectacular challenge if you go looking for someone who adores The Lord of the Rings trilogy more than I do. And LOTR love doesn't stop there...The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, etc. I was raised by a LOTR-adoring family and fell in love with the best series on the planet from age four when I watched the movies with my family. At six I read the Hobbit, and I threw myself into the whole trilogy at age eight. I. Love. These. Stories. I also adore the characters, and as weird as it may be, they truly feel like friends (I grew up with them after all!). So, when the best romance in the trilogy--the one between two of the best characters in the whole thing if not in all fiction in general--was cut in the films, and only given a lousy 50 seconds in the extended editions, I was, AHEM, not pleased. Faramir and Eowyn's relationship is so glossed over, their characters which are so deep and layered were thrown away. The movies almost managed to make Eowyn, an embodiment of natural feminism in its best form, a damsel in distress. They made Faramir--wise, kind, gentle, discerning, loved by his men, selfless, and, to quote Tolkien, "A man whom pity deeply stirred"--into...well...not. I think even Tolkien should have spent more time on their relationship...it was something new and fresh, a romance built in friendship, tender and loving but considerate. I mean, Faramir basically does the Tolkien version of tell Eowyn she's hot when he first meets her, but then is very respectful and considerate and cares for her for totally different reasons as well. OKAY, so, with that insanely long dissection of their fantastic relationship, proceed to my story if you dare. I wanted to take Tolkien's framework and go into the character's heads. I wanted to give them the voices they would have had, the ones Tolkien touched on and Peter Jackson trampled. So, kind reader, enjoy this sappy mess. I tried to fit the Tolkien tone, and write in the same style of language that he used. I would SO SO APPRECIATE a comment from you! Tell me if I stayed in character and used the right words to tell this beautiful forgotten love story in a cannon but original way. Ok, that was more than enough philosophizing. This is set with Faramir and Eowyn stuck in the houses of healing after both being attacked by the Nazgul (same as in the book). Not sure how many chapters this will have, several, so check back to see more! I hope you enjoy!

The pale sun rose, slowly, timid but steady. The clouds, twisted as if by the first spring rain, were tinged with rosebud pink, and their edges appeared as if set alight with some distant heavenly torch of gold. A shieldmaiden of Rohan stood on the carven wall, her eyes clear deep pools of sorrow. Those fathomless eyes were fixed on the eastern horizon, searching for death, or hope, or any reprieve that could come from that fabled direction. She could not go back to those prisons of bodily rest that left her mind in such restless torment, for while the healers soothed the hurts they saw in her, no man nor beast nor spirit could see the torment that twisted her within. To gaze over the eastern reaches gave her both temporary relief and aggravated her fierce nature, desperate to be uncaged. She almost longed for tears, the sweet relief of misery released, but instead her stinging eyes burned and ached with strain, and the sunrise, grown to a blood red vista, reflected in them to give the illusion of two points of flame in her marble white face. Ah, to be released, to fly off with the company of men going to their doom. To ride with Lord Aragorn in honor, to ride to glory, to renown, and to blissful death in battle. To join her uncle, dearer than father, in his victorious sleep, would be her will. Even in the open air, as high and free and one could be in this cold city of white stone, she felt trapped and alone. So alone. Her brother had ridden to certain death, as she wished she could herself. Her uncle had been sundered from her despite her valor and determination, and the one who’s love she most desired had given her nothing but pity and an understanding that was too deep and piercing for comfort. The sky was light now, the horizon still gilded but the air crisp with fresh gray morning. The bell rang in the second hour, and voices from below began to mix with the breeze and birdsong above. Still she stood, silhouetted against the dawn as if stitched into a vibrant tapestry, cold and fair, the blood frozen in her veins leaving her face permanently inclined to the east, the look of longing and heartbreak etched on her white features.  
The sound of careful steps fell on her ears, but she could not seem to tear her gaze away from the fading sunrise. She felt someone standing by her, and she found, to her surprise, that she didn’t wish them to depart. She stood a moment longer in silence, before turning to see who disturbed her reverie. She found her eyes met with a pair of gray-green ones, eyes that told stories and spoke comforting words that didn’t pass the lips. The young captain of Gondor stood beside her, his hands clasped behind his back, like her raking his gaze over the eastern horizon. Speech seemed too disruptive for the contemplative setting, so she simply let her stare wander back to its previous post and allowed her thoughts to wander on, regardless of the man who’d come she knew not why. He, though, found his eyes drawn more to the white lady of Rohan than the lightening distance. He wisely decided to keep his silence, for her peace seemed fragile. They stood in silence for what could have been an hour or an age. Finally she turned, resigned to return to the tender torture offered in the houses of healing. As she stepped down, she heard the captain speak. “Lady Eowyn. Will you not walk with me? Your company would ease the care of these troubled days.” His eyes found hers, and she was surprised to see something like pleading in such a normally stern face. “I do not think you would wish that if you knew to whom you speak. I am no gentlewoman of Gondor. I am a shieldmaiden, hard, cold, and alone. I sought death and I found only imprisonment. You would not wish to have my company.” Before he could reply she was gone, walking swiftly down the steps. He stood a moment more, something reminiscent of a smile playing around his mouth. Then he turned his back to the east and descended the stairs, a tangle of thoughts in his mind. He too was a prisoner of the healers, and yearned for escape. But he found, for a brief while, that that desire was not, as usual, the subject of his musings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get into Faramir's head a little...I love trying to paint the thoughts of characters that don't get much attention. How'd I do?

Faramir was often lost in thought, but never lingered on thoughts of himself. He was a man whom pity deeply stirred; other’s pain became his own. He was grave and stern as a son of kings, and yet was gentle as warm spring rain, kind to all good things that move, and possessed an understanding of human nature that allowed him to capture the allegiance and even love of his men. And yet he had always been lonely. His utmost effort, most unconditional love, reckless obedience, eagerness to please and willingness to risk all were never enough. Approval always evaded his grasp, his father’s and brother’s love slipped through his fingers. Never enough. Always inferior, no matter the arena, always voted down.  
From early childhood he had desperately craved the same unconditional love he gave out freely. When he took up his post as captain, his men gave him their allegiance, even sometimes their love...and some of the hurt was healed. After his brother died, through grief he knew would not have been returned had he been in Boromir’s place, he entertained a brief flicker of hope that his father’s love might find in him a worthy place to rest. Not so. The demands only grew broader and crueler, the hatred more blatant, the callous cold disregard like a twisting knife. The pain from the wound that he had born since childhood, the wound that had never really closed, roared back with a vengeance. And now here he was in the houses of healing, broken in mind and body, alone.   
His solace was in the garden, to walk on the wall of the great city, the city that should feel his own but only felt cold and bitter. More often than not he found the lady Eowyn searching for reprieve in the same quarter, walking and watching and waiting, always looking eastward. From day to day he would ask her to walk with him, gently try to speak with her, but he was always met with the cold indifference of one who would never give what he was seeking.   
One morning he awoke in great pain from the wounds inflicted by the dark king of the Nazgul, wounds that heal in body but split the spirit to the bone. He could not stay in those healing prisons, could not be caged that morning. He sat cross legged under a tree, leaning his back against its ancient twisted bark. He was so tired. Had been exhausted since he could remember. Deprived of the love he so desperately craved from the family who never really saw him. Why must he always be at the mercy of his craving for human connection? Why did no one see him?   
He had always had unwavering hope that someday he would find what he was looking for, but today that light went out. The world was probably ending, and yet he had no one to fall back on. So alone. His need for understanding, for connection, for any kind of emotion slightly reminiscent of love from any quarter, any person, anything at all...his eyes closed wearily. Where were these dark thoughts issuing from? He hated that he felt things as deeply as he did. His brother had been strong, impenetrable, confident at every juncture, never faltered, never showed anything but almost arrogant bravery. Faramir knew that he had never been that, never would walk the path of blind confidence and reckless self assurance. Why did he linger on musings of loneliness, why could he not tear his mind from those afflictions he had silently endured from childhood? He asked himself.   
He forced his eyes open, angry with himself for indulging in such internal discourse...a captain such as he was had no business turning over memories and longing for that which he could not have. He rebelled against the weakness that he felt, he would not give it grounds to grow. He rapidly blinked the eyes that stung and burned for lack of tears, despising the feeling and resolving to banish it from him till the world end, which was not far off now.   
But as he opened his eyes they met a pair of soft hazel ones. Golden hair gleamed in the dawning sun, tinged with the pink of the new day. He felt a strange stirring amid the lonely thoughts that had clouded his mind. He tried to rise quickly, but she said “No, stay lord, do not rise for me.” He sank back to the ground, but his deep chilling weariness was now replaced with a completely opposite feeling. He couldn’t adapt the feeling to words even for himself, but it was something warm and comforting, easing the burning in his eyes.   
She lighted on the grass beside him, gently stroking the green tendrils with white fingers. He feared to disrupt her, lose so soon what he had found, but he risked a few words. “Eowyn...why have you come? Did you not say that you wished no part with me?”. “I did my lord. But I am so very weary of being alone. Hope has forsaken these lands, and I have none. I thought to seek it from another, one I find is of a different kind then his cold kin. I wish to walk with thee, to speak together and glean comfort from each other’s company, if it be your will.” “Nothing could be more to my liking, lady.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used a few of Tolkien's words here, they were just perfect, but only a very few. I just love these two so much <3

She felt the chill within her lessen subtly. She had always been disregarded. Her brother always riding off to war and glory and leaving her to care for her possessed uncle, Theoden commanding her to care for the old and the sick and the children when her fingers itched to grasp a sword, left behind by the lord Aragorn when he went to certain death in the paths of the dead, death that she craved and release she longed for.

She scorned pity in any form, any hint of doubt in her resolve on anyone’s part. She yearned for connection but refused to allow anyone to break her protective shield of isolation. That day, she could not longer deny her desire to go to the captain of Gondor who had so readily offered her friendship to fall back on. She had longed to walk with him from the day he invited her to do so, but the thought of someone so wise and kind minimizing her desire for battle and glory and death was too much to risk. She would not be pitied by this man. 

But as she sat in the soft new grass and felt the sun stream between the gaps in the canopy of leaves, she turned to look at her companion. His black hair framed the face of a warrior, and yet his gray eyes told a story of gentleness and loathing to kill. She felt compassion stir within her, and realized that this was maybe...just maybe...what she was searching for.

They walked together in that bright morning, in sunlight that seemed to laugh at the world’s end and promise her something she wanted but could not fully understand. Through the next days they found a peace that neither had been granted before. They walked together in the garden of Minas Tirith, and day by day the leaves grew greener and the flowers and ferns unfurled in the spring that crept over the cold white city. They walked, now in silence, now in speech, resting in the comfort of the other. 

Slowly, the icy walls she had built to keep her winter fresh, to keep the hot scorn of those who doubted a woman’s will to fight, began to melt. With Faramir she knew she was not laughed at, was not doubted, was respected but safe. She felt it strange that she enjoyed the blissful feeling of safety he gave her; she who had never craved security nor protection. 

A day came when the sunlight was gone, replaced by thick ominous clouds billowing from the east. She knew not what was transpiring farther than the horizon, but her heart was troubled and her mood was one of despair. She sat on the great wall as she did every morning, straining to see what she knew she could not. When she felt Faramir advance to stand beside her, she did not turn away. “The sun is veiled. The light is hidden. There is a chill in the air that heralds more than rain. The wound that...that...He...inflicted does not heal, and the ache is worsened on this dark day. Why must the world be so?” 

Her words were bitter and saturated with a hopelessness so forlorn that Faramir felt a great pity well in his heart, a need to comfort this warrior woman who seemed so impenetrable and so vulnerable at the same moment. He cautiously took her hand in his own, hoping that she would not tear it away. At the feel of his hand, warm and tender in a way she would never accept before that hour, something in her broke. She turned and leaned into him, a feeling of closeness that she hadn’t known she needed covering her and quieting the turmoil she suffered internally. His arms were around her, his cheek resting on her hair. It was this embrace, so gently offered and silently given, that both broke and healed her. 

The tears that she had hated and imprisoned streamed down her white face. She made no sound, no lamentation of suffering as was the custom of the women in that city. She just released the storm that had so long caged her in herself. A breeze, not chill as the day but warm, like a promise of joy to come, whistled through the city, and their hair streamed out in the sudden sunshine, mingling raven and golden. In that hour, Eowyn, daughter of kings, shieldmaiden of the ancient race of the horse lords, cold and proud and stern, started to heal.


	4. Chapter 4

He was so happy at that moment. His heart swelled with a tangle of emotions running over each other and clamoring for mastery of the others. This was a feeling that had been denied him always. He had something that this cold warrior woman needed, something that softened her and ushered in the dawning of her own summer. He held her gently, as if she might break, though he knew this girl was never truly broken. 

The feeling of her pressed against him was perfect, peaceful and exhilarating in equal measure. They stood like that for time that passed unmarked and unmarred. When at last they separated, Eowyn looked the captain steadily in the eyes and said “Forgive me, lord, for my hostility. I did not know what I might find should I allow any living creature into my heart, for before this hour it was cold and chilled with loneliness. But now I thank thee, for what I have found is good and healing. I do not wish to lose that gift that thy so freely gives.” And with that she was gone, flowing back down the carven steps out of the garden. 

Faramir sat awhile in thought, turning over matters in his mind till they could go round no longer. He thought loneliness was his simple and inglorious lot, but maybe, just maybe, there was one who could cure the pain of relentless rejection. The corners of his mouth turned up and he laughed, a joyful laugh meant for none but heard by many. His laugh was infectious, and it gave those who heard it new courage in these days of endless trials. 

As Eowyn sat by a window in the houses of healing she struggled with the thoughts that crashed like waves over her mind. They were thoughts of the lord Aragorn, gone off to certain death, but if not death, glorious return, glory undimmed until the ending of the line of kings. But they were not thoughts like those she had entertained before. She thought of him returning, victorious, the war at an end, the dark lord vanquished, and coming to claim the kingship. She imagined herself his blissful queen, lifted high above the mean things of the earth. She saw the jewel he wore, twisted of crystal and silver, and recalled the sharp pain she had felt when he divulged its meaning to her. It symbolized her place outside his heart, far away from what she wished could be. 

But somehow, she found, today these musings did not cause her pain. She realized with some shock that she no longer desired to be a queen. There was something else...someone else...that she wanted, needed. Aragorn could not give what she was seeking. He was proud, stern, unflinching in the face of danger but just as inflexible in the pursuit of his quests and no other’s. He was kind, yes, but he was a son of kings and he knew it. 

Her thoughts wandered instead to Faramir, the captain who saw her for what she truly was. He had the air of courage and strength unmatched, and yet could be so tender and soft. She hated that she was only thinking of these two, when she should think of her brother gone off to almost certain death, should think of her people, should be nothing but grateful for the healing given to her by the skilled herb lords of the city. 

A tinge of red blood rose to her marble white face as she wrenched her thoughts away from the one lifted high above her and the other...well, she was done thinking about it for the moment. The sun set, and she lay on the cool sheets of the cot. The moonlight flowing around the objects in the room traced swirling patters in ripples around the ceiling. Bunches of fragrant herbs hung from ornate hooks along the top of the window frame for sun-drying. They twisted the shadows into a black and fleeting garden reflected around the small room. 

She drifted gently into slumber, at peace, and her sweet sleep was unmarred by the leering faces and dark spirits that so regularly haunted her troubled rest. Tonight they were gone, and she slept the sleep of one who is released from long imprisonment, dreamless, save pleasant scenes forgotten at the fluttering open of eyelids in the morning.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to stay in character...how am I doing?

At the dawning of the day the earth was rocked to its foundation. The news of the fall of Sauron, the enemy of the free peoples of Middle Earth, was carried to the city of Gondor. Rejoicing beyond measure overwhelmed the white city, and the Lord Aragorn swept back into Minas Tirith to claim the kingship and restore the peace and order of ancient days. 

This time brought joy indescribable in mere words, and yet for the young steward of only a few days in office and the white lady of Rohan it brought pain as well as pleasure. Faramir willingly surrendered what power he retained to the rightful king of Gondor, and Eowyn bore with patience and grace the sight of the one who wore the twisted necklace guiding the elven queen of the evening into her new home. 

Eowyn was a lover of the morning, always up at the first rosy stirrings of a new day. Still she lingered in the garden, no longer looking eastward, simply enjoying the fresh growing things that sprouted up and blossomed with an uncanny speed and beauty in this atmosphere of lush rejuvenation that covered all of Middle Earth. 

She missed the tall dark-haired captain who had joined her so often in her quiet morning reveries. Faramir was now always gone to some corner of the city, helping his people rebuild, seeking out his men and bestowing praise on the faithful citadel guards, dutifully preparing his home for the return of the king. Eowyn learned to never expect him, for he came very seldom. He had things to tend to that did not concern her. 

But a day came when Faramir joined her under the tree she had come to love. They sat, but not in silence, for joy had loosened their tongues and they talked for much time that slipped by unnoticed, now grave and now merry. Finally their long discourse slowed, and Faramir met those beautiful hazel eyes with his storm-colored ones. 

“Eowyn...I have missed your company more than I can speak in frail and insufficient words.” “Did you, in truth?” “I would never lie to you, or speak the empty words of flattery that so many dole out with painful untruth. Now, with so much joy and beauty and new life in this good earth, I cannot refrain from speaking those precious words that cannot be retracted. Eowyn, I tell you now that I love you. I do not ask for the same in return, but I cannot go on in unspoken feeling when everything in the world is glad.” 

She drew into herself and found, both to her surprise and as if it was always so, that she did not desire to fill the place of Arwen Undomiel. What she wanted most in the world at that moment was to stay right there, and rest in what she thought she would never find. When she did not give any response for a minute or two Faramir rose, as if to leave. “I do not mean to disturb your peace, lady. I only wished to give you my complete honesty, and I am not surprised that I am an insufficient cure for a lady so lovely and valiant. I will take my leave, but I wish you the greatest happiness.”

She had forgotten that the customs of Rohan were not those of Gondor. The people of Rohan were slow to speak on matters of importance, and often would take much time to reveal what they were thinking. Not so in Gondor; the people of Minas Tirith were quick and intense, and expected the same. She sprang up, with a lightness she was unaccustomed to since she had last ridden to battle. “No, lord! Do not depart. If you mean what you have said, I bid you stay, for you will be my greatest happiness.” And the white lady of Rohan kissed the dark-haired captain of Gondor with passion she had never given to any living thing.

He, in joy undimmed by surprise, pulled her to him and cupped her face in his hands, tenderly lingering over her as he gave and received the blessed feeling of love he had never had, the love he had longed for in vain, had feared he would never find in this woman who he thought would never return his feelings. The wound that had been ripped open in childhood closed. When they finally broke apart, they joined in a laughter pure and young and mirthful; they were healed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The marriage of Eowyn and Faramir, the way I picture it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, soooo...this chapter somehow managed to get a little steamy...not totally sure what happened there XD It just seemed to fit. Let me know what you think! It was really satisfying to give these two a little more story, so I hope you enjoyed it! (Also I totally made up some of this, like I have no idea what marriage customs in Rohan and Gondor were, I just took a stab at something that seemed real).  
> "Ye mirya anna, ndilamaiquen" is a rough elvish translation of "what a beautiful thing, to have someone to love." Tolkien's language is very difficult and multilayered, so if you know a better translation comment and let me know!

Eomer pronounced the speech of farewell to her fallen uncle. The king’s body had been carried back to Rohan, where it could rest with his sires in the tombs where the white flowers grew. Eowyn felt a single tear drop down her cheek. She missed him so very much, and bitterly regretted that he would not be present to see his daughter wedded. Her thoughts were cut short when her brother’s voice rang through the hall, calling for silence. “Ye people of Rohan, there is some joy on this solemn occasion. The lady Eowyn, my sister, shall be bound to the lord Faramir with the ties of marriage, if both consent to the arrangement.” And all the people, her people, cried out in celebration, and the two were brought to the front of the great hall.

The marriage ceremonies of Rohan and Gondor differed greatly, but according to both cultures Faramir’s mother and Eowyn’s father were meant to be present to complete the ritual. Of course this was impossible, as both had passed on to they knew not where. But Eomer cobbled together something that would suffice for the purpose, and with much joy and laughter, the couple was joined. 

A great feast followed, prepared both for the king’s farewell and Eowyn and Faramir’s marriage. The celebration was observed in Roheric fashion, which was foreign and strange to the visitors in that hall. Many people had travelled to the great hall of Meduseld, of all races and homelands. Among them were the lord Aragorn and lady Arwen Undomniel, Gimli son of Gloin and Legolas of the woodland realm (now fast friends despite all the hatred harbored by each race against the other), the halflings who had won such fame and renown, and many others. Faramir and Aragorn appeared to be the only ones thoroughly comfortable with all the customs and cultures assembled and mingling, while Legolas and Gimi and many of the foreign guests had looks of complete confusion plastered on their faces the entire evening. No one cared. 

Finally the festivities came to an end, and the guests departed or retired to accommodations prepared for them. Faramir and Eowyn settled in what had been her chamber when she dwelt in the king’s hall to care for her uncle, almost reduced to animal unawareness. Eowyn was a creature of the light, a lover of the dawn, paralyzed by dark unless she faced it with the strength of will that forced all who met her to respect her. And yet still she hated the night and the darkness. But tonight is was a beautiful warm darkness. Her companion--she had the strange realization that Faramir was now her husband, a strange word to turn over in her mind--eased all the fear and loneliness that had always haunted her unspoken, for she feared to reveal her dark terror for fear of seeming weak and losing the respectful regard that was so difficult to retain from men who saw her for nothing more than a nursemaid to her uncle. Beautiful but fragile. She hated to be pitied and patronized, so she kept her silence. But now she was guarded by the feeling of safety that she craved, but would never admit to anyone but him.

A kiss that was both hard and soft simultaneously, and hands that so carefully explored her skin. His hands were so gentle, his movements slow and deliberate, every touch intended, tender and considerate, never rough, smooth and warm and nearly reverent. She felt him smile into her skin, and the pleasure she felt she knew was as much his as it was hers. She had never allowed anyone to show such affection, neither in speech nor body, but now she happily surrendered to his touch without misgiving. She shuddered at the thought of the one who had tried to do the same, Grima with his cold, damp, rough hands, before she kicked him away and her brother finished the job, incensed. The look in her brother's eyes when he found what Grima was planning to do, had been promised by the dark lord that he might do should he follow orders, haunted her still, the hatred and dismay and brokenness in those fiercely protective brown eyes. After catching that glimpse of anguished eyes, she had kept her torture completely to herself. The white lady renowned for both her bravery and her coldness was in truth still harboring grief within her slowly melting walls of ice. Faramir wove his fingers into her golden hair, relishing its soft sunlit texture, but felt a pang of fear for her when she jerked away with a sudden wild look in her hazel eyes. How could he know who had done the same in a dark corridor of the Golden Hall, trailed his clammy fingertips over her throat, tangled hands in hair that was then pulled roughly and without care, a worm's cold white lips dragged over those that had tried desperately to keep their silence. Her sudden memory clouded reality, and she felt herself move away from the inviting gentle hands. After a long moment, Faramir's eyes came back into focus, the pained look in the ocean gray. She let her muscles loosen, and relaxed into him, resting her head on his chest and allowing him to stroke her hair with that indescribable gentleness that she had never known. She saw now that there was nothing but good, such good. Faramir's slow lingering kisses were nothing but warmth and comfort, and they stirred something wonderful inside her.The pleasure of his touch was a goodness she had never realized she longed for. He whispered something but she didn’t hear it. She just enjoyed the wonderful closeness, the darkness banished forever. 

Faramir was just so simply, purely, completely happy. She was everything he had needed for so long. He wondered what his brother would think of him now, whether he would be proud or jelous or indifferent. What his father would think...would his father have seen him if he appeared with the white lady of Rohan that it was said no one could tame, who would never accept anything from any man, no help nor pity nor affection? Mostly he wondered what his mother would think. She had loved him as no one else had, and it was she who instilled in him the gentleness that his brother had scorned. As he allowed his hand to rest in that golden hair, he felt her breathing catch with sudden fear. He had such insight as to see the one who had hurt this beautiful woman, a skulking worm, and felt anger rise in his chest for the one who had crushed the fragile trust of the white lady still in youth. But then she grew limp, the look of terror in those hazel eyes he loved faded, and he felt anger replaced with adoration as she laid her sun-crowned head on his chest. As he traced Eowyn’s form and kissed her deeply as he had longed to do since he saw her standing on the walls of Minas Tirith, framed by the rosy dawn, he didn’t especially care what any of them would think. They had all left him, alone, so very alone. And she had found him. Healed him, and allowed him to love her. That was enough. Her mother, father, and uncle had also been torn from her. They had both been alone. But now they were alone, together. He whispered in the elven tongue, the words that seemed to dear for the common speech, “ye mirya anna, ndilamaiquen” But as his lips softly caressed her face, and he gave her the affection he thought she would never allow him to give, he knew she didn’t hear. Her breathing was even and steady, and her face was resting in a position of complete content. He smiled. Such a beautiful together.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faramir and Eowyn welcome their newborn son, and sift through memories of the time leading up to their child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter, it just struck me as so sweet and pure. I tried to make their memories believable. Eremelda means "most beloved" in Tolkien's incredibly detailed elvish language. Hope you enjoy, let me know what you think:)

She held the beautiful child in her trembling arms. The tiny child was perfectly formed, one hand draped over his still-closed eyes and the other clasping a few golden threads of Eowyn’s hair with chubby clinging fingers. The slight tugging sting of her son’s affectionate grasp was welcomed. She let her mind wander over all the events that had swept her off to this moment. She remembered the days of her youth when she had ridden free over the plains of her beautiful country, loose hair whipping deliciously in the wind, joined only by brilliant blue sky and endless rolling fields, catching occasional glimpses of Fangorn when she strayed far from her home in the golden hall. 

She recalled Eomer and her cousin loudly discussing the various lasses they had snared with their social status and raw but graceless charm. When she stumbled upon their conversation they had asked her to enlighten them with the details of her conquests, those they assumed she must have with her flowing hair the color of sunshine, soft hazel eyes, slight and graceful frame and appealing free spirit. They asked this question much more loudly than she would have liked. She remembered with an amused smile her face flaming crimson red as she tosed her long hair to cover the aspect of her embarrassment, and informed them both that she had no lover and never would as long as she lived, for she meant to be free of the winding bonds of marriage and motherhood and physical affection. Her voice had caught with embarrassment at this last addition that she hadn’t especially meant to cross her lips, and she recalled her older brother roaring with laughter and telling his hastily departing sister to “wait and see what might come along to change that mind that you believe to be so set in sacred stone.” His sarcasm stung her pride. 

Now, as she met the beautiful storm-gray eyes that so tenderly caressed her with their gaze, she knew that Faramir had indeed come along, and had certainly changed her mind. Her thoughts wandered to that particular night that had led to this beautiful child in her arms...the goodness of his soft touch...she dragged her eyes to the floor, her reminiscing of crimson embarrassment in youth returning with vigor in the present. “What makes thee blush so, eremelda?” He gently lifted her face up to his own. His eyes danced with amusement; she halfway regretted his intensely accurate perception.  
But in spite of her mind that seemed to wander without her leave and his that seemed to follow with uncanny accuracy, she was so very happy. Her child opened pale eyelids to survey the world for the first time, and she saw with a swell of pride that he had a dusting of Faramir’s gently waving raven-black hair and his Gondorian olive skin, but her green-tinged hazel eyes.  
Faramir looked into his child’s face with adoration unmatched, resting peacefully in the arms of the woman he loved more than life itself. He saw her face take on a sudden rosy glow, and met her downcast stare to see there what she seemed so reluctant to share; he immediately grasped her look of confused embarrassment and laughed internally. It was as if she had forgotten that he was the same man who had both been there and was here. 

He recalled the first time he had run his eyes over the white lady standing on the walls of Minas Tirith. He liked to imagine that he loved her only after he had spent time in speech with her, and he knew that those treasured hours solidified his adoration, but in truth he realized that his love for Eowyn was born the moment he saw her, even in the days of her sorrow and love for another. She had appeared as if a shining star still clinging to the frosty night even as the rose gold dawn enveloped her cold and unattainable loveliness. The days of painful waiting when the war was still being waged in the east would have been made bright and golden indeed if he had possessed the foresight to see this perfect child that shared both his and Eowyn’s features. He internally thanked whatever might be listening for the best of fortunes that had fallen to him. 

In that hour Eowyn and Faramir gave their son the name Elboron, meaning Enduring Star in the elvish tongue. Eowyn took her husband’s hand with a look of perfect happiness. The same was returned in full measure.


End file.
